It's What You Do
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Sam's just doing his job, but Dean is the one who has to pay for it.
1. Chapter 1

It's What You Do

By: Ridley

Rating: T-for language

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me. We know who the boss is.

A/N: Ahh, just a little snippet for my writer's block. This is a scene that was mentioned in one of my other fics. Just a bit of fluff.

It all started with the simple fact that Sam didn't want to hold Dean's hand.

How hard could it be to get one seven year old kid to do such a simple task, you ask?

Well, pretty damn hard if that kid was a Winchester and brilliant beyond his years and a real pain in the ass to boot.

And it didn't help that said boy was getting over a nasty case of strep and was crankier than usual, and that his older brother had overindulged his every whim in the past week that he had been sick.

Unfortunately, taking back control wasn't as easy as it seemed.

"Give me your hand, Sammy!" Dean Winchester growled, sounding as threatening as any twelve year old could. "You can't cross the street by yourself."

"I'm too big too hold your hand, Dean!" Sam said defiantly, holding both arms behind his back and dancing out of his brother's reach.

Dean made a grab for Sam but missed. "Says who?"

"Says me," Sam puffed out his chest and replied. "I'm in first grade-you know."

"Well I'm in charge-you know. And if I want to hold your hand to cross the street when your _seventeen_, then I guess you'll just have to learn to live with it."

"I'll be bigger than you then," Sam pointed out, looking up at his much taller sibling. "Daddy says I'm going to be the tallest."

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "Maybe Dad doesn't know everything."

The smaller boy frowned. "Yes he does."

"That's right- and _he _said that you had to hold my hand when we crossed the street." _Ha! _Dean showed him.

"But Daddy's not here." Sam looked up at him with owlish, liquid pools of complete innocence.

_Damn it. _It was never easy. "Yeah, and I'm the boss when he's not around."

Sam shrugged one thin shoulder. "You're _not_ the boss of me."

"I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but I'm your big brother. I will _always_ be the boss of _you_. That's the rule."

"Who's rule?" Sam was still backing away from his brother on the sidewalk, hopping back and forth from one foot to the other.

Dean clenched his jaw and tried to remember that he dearly loved the little monster in front of him. "_My_ rule. I made it, and you will follow it."

"Why do you get to make rules?"

"It's what I do." Dean grabbed for his brother again, and Sam dodged him once more. "It's my job."

"What's my job?" Sam stopped moving and stared up at his brother. "I should have a job, too."

"Oh you have a job, little brother." Dean finally grabbed hold of him. "It's to drive me freakin' crazy," he huffed, as he had to pry Sam's arm from behind his back. The twelve year old then had to use both his hands to uncurl each small, sticky, clenched finger.

"Sam," he warned as he saw his brother's foot lift in a perfect arc to deliver a well-placed blow to his shin. "I swear if you kick me-I will take your ass back to the library and tell Dad that you ran out into traffic. He'll make you wear a leash."

Sam dropped his foot back to the ground. "You said a bad word."

"I'm going to say a lot more if you don't stop being such a brat."

"I'm not a brat."

"Today-you are." Dean sent a quick, silent thank you out that Sam wasn't usually obnoxious.

"Well-you're a bully. And Mrs. Jones says bullies get punished."

Dean snorted. "But Mrs. Jones isn't here."

"I don't like you," Sam tried to jerk away from his brother again.

"That's okay, Sammy." Dean tightened his hold on the little boy's hand, just enough so that Sam knew he meant business, but not enough to cause any real pain. "I don't like you too much right now, either."

"I want to go back with Daddy." Sam wailed as they made it back to the crosswalk.

That was definitely a first. Dean ignored him.

"I want Daddy!" Sam screamed this time-bringing several eyes to them. "I don't want to stay with you."

"Dad told us to get something to eat, Sam!" Dean bit out, practically dragging his little brother behind him now. He couldn't deny that it stung. Sam never chose his father over him. "I don't care what you want. You're coming to the diner with me."

Dean ignored the embarrassing looks they were getting from the passerby's and finally managed to get his little brother across the street and into the restaurant. "Sit," he commanded, as he shoved Sam into the booth farthest from the door and then slid in right beside him.

He let Sam jerk his hand free, and watched as the seven year old crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his lip out. "I hope your face freezes that way," Dean sighed as he picked up a menu and flipped it open in front of them.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a fat tear splash to the table, and then another, and he groaned. _Not again. _It really wasn't like Sam to be a brat. In fact, Sammy was hardly ever bad at all.

Dean knew that the temper tantrum could most likely be chalked up to the fact that the little boy hadn't been sleeping well since the cold, and the whole matter of traveling over 600 miles in the last two days hadn't helped things either. "You can have a milkshake for dessert, if you want."

A shake of the head was the only reply, and Dean shrugged. " Suit yourself, but they have peanut butter-your favorite."

Sam seemed to perk up a bit at that. "Do I have to eat vegetables first?"

That was usually the deal-at least when they were eating somewhere that actually had vegetables. Most of the time, French fries or hash browns made up the mandatory food that had to be consumed before dessert. But today, Dean was tired, and was ready to call a truce. "Not today, kiddo."

"Good-my throat still hurts."

"The yelling probably didn't help with that," Dean pointed out and Sam actually looked somewhat contrite.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

The waitress finally made her way over to them and took their order. Dean was surprised when Sam actually agreed to eat a hotdog with his milkshake, and he ordered enough fries for the both of them-just in case.

Once the waitress was gone, Dean scanned their surroundings, noting faces and body language. It was an ingrained habit that his father had drilled into him. _Know what and who is around you at all times. _His eyes stopped on two doors not far from their booth, and he nudged his brother with his elbow. "Come on, Sammy, let's go to the bathroom."

"But I don't have to go."

"Well, I do."

"So."

Dean silently counted to five. "At least come and wash your hands."

Sam held his hands up. "They're not dirty."

Dean rolled his eyes and wondered if the horrible sickness that Sam had suffered from during the past week hadn't actually been some weird demonic possession. He bit his tongue to keep from saying 'Christo'.

"Fine-germ boy." Any other day and Sam wouldn't have wanted to be separated from him for even a moment. There were times when Dean couldn't even _go_ to the bathroom by himself, without the barnacle affectionately known as Sammy attached to his hip.

Sam shrugged. "I like germs."

Dean sighed, and pulled the comic he'd been carrying for Sam out of his back pocket. "Sit here and read this." He handed the rolled up Spider Man comic to his brother and then pointed a finger at him. "Do not move from this seat."

Sam took his book and nodded. "Okay, Dean."

Dean really should have known better.

After all, no matter what he'd said or suggested for the last two days, Sam had done exactly the opposite. Of course, he never expected his brother to be so bold as to disobey a direct order, or break a rule that was set in stone by the mighty John Winchester. It had been drilled into both their heads that they were never to go places alone.

Unfortunately, not only had the antibiotics and variety of other drugs cleared up the strep-they had apparently wiped Sam's memory clean also. Because when Dean exited the men's room, just ten feet from the table where he'd left his brother, Sam was no where in sight.

"Sam?" Dean walked quickly to the booth, peering under it to make sure his brother wasn't simply hiding.

The Spider Man comic was laying in the floor, as if it had been dropped and as Dean picked it up, every terrible scenario that could have happened flooded his mind. "Sammy?" he said, louder this time. His eyes searched the crowded diner.

Mostly older couples and a few business looking types were crowded into booths and around the front counter. But no sign of Sammy.

Dean nearly jumped when their waitress touched his arm as she delivered their drinks. "Is something wrong?" the blond asked, eyeing the teen as she sat his Coke and Sam's milkshake on the table.

"Have you seen my little brother?" Dean turned a panicked gaze on her. "You know-blond hair, big brown eyes, just about this high?" The boy held his hand up to his waist.

The waitress glanced around and then looked at Dean. "Just when you two came in, and when I took your order. Did he go to the bathroom?"

Dean shook his head. "No-I just came from there."

"What about the women's?"

Dean shrugged, not having thought about it. Maybe Sam had gone in the wrong one.

"I'll check for you." The woman touched him briefly on the shoulder and smiled. "I'm sure he couldn't have gotten far."

As the server went to look in the restroom, Dean stalked around the small restaurant, glancing under tables and behind booths. There was a jukebox and some gumball machines in the back corner, but Sam hadn't been drawn to either.

"He wasn't in there," the blond waitress told Dean as she set her tray on the counter. "Hey Terry?" She called, and Dean watched as a balding man with a greasy apron stuck his head through an opening that led into the kitchen. "You ain't seen a cute little kid back there, have you?"

Terry snorted and looked at the woman like she'd grown a second head. He waved his spatula at her. "Doris-do I look like I'm running a daycare here?"

Doris rolled her eyes. "We've lost a customer."

"Won't be the first- or the last," Terry grumbled and went back to wherever he'd come from.

The waitress squeezed Dean's arm. "Don't mind him. I'll go back and check in the kitchen myself. We'll find your brother."

Dean only nodded, his eyes searching the room again. There was an elderly couple sitting in the booth by the door and he strode up to their table. "Excuse me?"

"Can we help you, son?" The gray-haired man asked, eyeing Dean suspiciously.

"Did you happen to see a little boy leave the diner?" _Please say, no. Please. _"He has blondish brown hair, and was wearing a red shirt, blue jacket and jeans."

"We saw you two come in a few minutes ago. He's the cutest little thing," the woman smiled as if she had been highly amused by the sight. "But I don't think anyone's left since then."

"Thank you," Dean nodded and backed away from them. A feeling of relief washed over him for the small miracle that apparently Sam hadn't been stupid enough to leave the diner by himself.

"He's not back there, son." Doris informed Dean, breathlessly. "I don't know where he could have gotten to."

"Are you sure ?"

"It's not very big. I'd have seen him if he was."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, feeling the anxiety and fear starting to close in on him. If Sam hadn't walked out, and he wasn't in the building somewhere, then that left only one alternative-something had taken him.

Something that could sneak in and take a little boy without anyone being the wiser.

Something from the Dark.

A spirit. Or a phantom. _Oh God-what if it was a phantom. What if it hadhurt Sammy?_

Dean had left his little brother alone and now he was gone. Vanished.

Tears stung his eyes and Dean didn't even care if someone saw them. He'd never been quite so scared. His heart was threatening to pound its way out of his chest, and he felt lightheaded.

"Do you want me to call the police, sweetie?" Doris was touching him again, but Dean shook his head, and pulled away from her.

They were never to involve the police. "NO-I'll go get my dad. He's just across the street." _He's going to kill me, but if he helps me find Sam first-then I can live with that._

"I'll make sure and keep my eye out for him."

Dean nodded. "His name's Sam. Please, if you see him, just keep him here. Tell him Dean said to stay right here." The teen started for the door but then stopped and turned back to face the waitress. "Christopher Robin," he said, softly.

"Excuse me?" the woman's brow furrowed. "I thought you said his name was Sam."

"That's our code word this week. He'll listen to you-if you say it. Just tell him, and he'll know he's safe." _Please let him be safe. _

Doris agreed, wringing a napkin in her hands, and looking on the verge of tears herself. "Are you sure I shouldn't call the police, honey? People can be so crazy these days."

Dean knew what she was thinking. Predators took children all the time. He wasn't too young to not know what happened to innocent, little boys and girls at the hands of human monsters. People were crazier than the supernatural creatures he'd grown up dealing with.

But Sam would have fought if it were a human. He'd never have gone with anyone without them knowing their safety word. Sam understood that at the age of two.

"My dad will know what to do. We'll be right back."_ And God help whoever or whatever has taken my brother. _

Doris watched the lanky teen leave the restaurant and sent up a quick prayer that this was just some big misunderstanding. After all, it was a _Tuesday_. And nothing exciting ever happened on Tuesdays.

_Unless you count a new episode of Supernatural as EXCITING. Bg. _

_TBC-Ridley_


	2. Chapter 2

It's What You Do

Chapter 2

When Dean was a little boy one of his first memories was of his father reading to him.

Believe it or not, John Winchester was quite the dramatic. He'd do the voices and mimic the actions happening in whatever tale he was weaving. And Dean remembered he was especially good at anything by Dr. Suess.

Mary always complained, with a wry grin, that by the end of the story Dean was more wound up than before she'd put him down for the night.

His mother would frown and shake her head as Dean would end up giggling so hard at his dad's silliness that he'd have to get up to go to the bathroom, and then of course he'd have to have another glass of water and to check on Sammy just one more time…. and so on and on-until Dean would finally fall asleep safe and sound in his father's arms.

Unfortunately, the man sitting in the big chair with a book spread out in front of him in the Salt Lake library wasn't that same jovial mechanic who loved nothing more than to spend his spare time entertaining his oldest son.

No, this man was the skilled, determined hunter who had come to live with them eight years before. This man would not be amused or indulgent when Dean told _his_ story.

His dad was going to be just as terrified and worried as Dean, and then he'd be angry. Angry that Dean had failed. It was Dean's job to take care of Sam. A job his father had entrusted him with, and son or not, Dean was going to have to answer for that. But first, and most importantly, they had to find Sam.

"Dad?" Dean stepped into the small reading room, and cleared his throat when his dad didn't look up at the sound of his voice.

John finally glanced in his direction with a distracted look. "Not now, Dean. I need to finish this."

"Dad-it's Sammy," Dean's voice was more urgent this time, and his father actually put the book down. "I can't find him."

"What do you mean you can't find him?" John felt his heart quicken, as he took a good look at his oldest son. There was fear in Dean's eyes-something that was rare in the boy , who could face down a demon with the best of them and not even break a sweat.

Dean glanced down at the floor and tried to control his breathing, but the explanation came tumbling out without much clarity. "I needed to go to the bathroom and he was being such a brat. He wouldn't listen to anything I said-didn't want to hold my hand- and then when I went… Anyway…I was just gone for a second, and when I came out…"

John crossed to where his son was and firmly took him by the shoulders. "Slow down, Ace."

Dean looked up at him, tears brimming against his dark lashes. "I was just gone for a minute or two, Dad. I swear. Our table was in the back, right next to the restrooms."

"You left him alone?" John gave the boy a slight shake when he didn't answer. "Dean?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn it!" John let him go and turned to grab his coat and journal. He started towards the door. "Where?"

"At the diner across the street," Dean stammered, as he followed after his father. "I took him to get something to eat-just like you said."

"Was there anyone around-anyone suspicious looking?"

"No," Dean shook his head. "I didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

"Damn it, Dean," John sighed, as they rushed down the stairs of the old library. "You know better than this."

"I'm sorry," Dean said as they made their way out of the stale stairway and into the cool spring sunshine. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"But it did." John didn't even wait for the light at the crosswalk, he just barreled into the street, and Dean followed, not caring if the traffic stopped or not.

"We have to find him, Dad."

John didn't even look at him as he pulled open the door of the diner. The bells attached clanged loudly, but Dean didn't miss the reply. "You better hope we do."

Doris was waiting on a table when she heard the door and looked up in time to see a tall, fit man charge in the diner as if he were taking the frontline of an enemy encampment. Apparently, this Tuesday was going to be out of the ordinary.

The manlooked ex-military, and she should know, having been raised by career Green Beret and married to a marine for more than thirty years. In fact, she half expected this handsome stranger to start barking orders and to command everyone to attention at any second.

She would have been more alarmed if the teenager from before hadn't been right behind him-looking just as fierce and determined.

This was undoubtedly the missing little boy's daddy, and the way he was tearing around the place like a mama bear looking for her cub had her customers looking nervous and speaking in harsh whispers.

Even Terry peaked his head out from the kitchen. "What the hell is going on out here?"

"I'm looking for my son." John Winchester strode behind the counter and up to the cook. "Are you the owner here?"

"I am." Terry deflated somewhat in the other man's glare, but held the dark gaze. "And I ain't responsible for unattended children."

John glanced over at Dean. "He wasn't unattended. My oldest son was with him."

Terry also looked at Dean. "Then maybe you should be yelling at him, instead of me. We offered to call the cops, but your oldest son wouldn't hear of it."

Doris, who had come to stand beside Dean, placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It just happened a few minutes ago. Dean and I both searched this place over as soon as Sam disappeared."

"Nobody saw him leave, Dad," Dean pointed out, hoping his father would understand his meaning.

John looked at Doris. "Is there a back door to this place?"

"A fire exit." She motioned towards the kitchen with the coffee pot she was holding. "It opens up to the back alley."

With out waiting for her to explain that Terry would have seen Sam if he'd gone that way, the hunter barreled past the surprised cook and shoved his way into the small grease pit.

It was cramped, with a large grill and toaster oven and several coolers. The exit was along the back wall, and illegally barred with a large metal plate. Apparently, fire code was not a priority in Terry's managerial duties. "Dad?"

Dean was also in the kitchen now and John heard the cook let out a muffled curse about health violations. "Check the coolers, and the cabinets."

Coolers? Dean's heart stopped. _Could Sammy have gotten into one of the oversized freezers? _

The thought of his little brother trapped in a cold, oxygen-deprived tomb had him rushing to the silver door in the far corner and practically tearing it from it's hinges.

His green eyes searched the icy expanse, as he pushed boxes of frozen fries and beef patties out of his way. Metal shelves held other items and in his hurry Dean knocked over one of the plastic gallons of tomato sauce. It crashed to the floor and splattered thick red streaks over the concrete and onto Dean's clothes.

It wasn't the mess so much as it was the feeling it conjured for Dean, who'd seen blood explode from a body in a very similar way. His mind flash to Sammy and he was relieved that he hadn't eaten anything, because it would most assuredly made an interesting addition to the mess already on the floor.

"Watch what you're doing, kid," Terry yelled, grabbing hold of the startled teen, and jerking him from the cooler. "That stuff costs money."

"Get your fucking hands off my son." John didn't give the man time to release Dean, before he grabbed the cook by the scruff of the neck and pulled him off of the teen.

The shell shocked look on his son's face and the complete horror in his deep green eyes had every protective instinct firing, and John had to contain himself not to throw a punch at the hash slinger-who was the easiest target for his aggression.

"Will you all please just calm down?" Doris had her hands on her hips and was frowning at all of them. "This isn't helping that little boy one bit."

"Tearing my place apart isn't helping either," Terry snarled. "Neither is assaulting me. Call the police, Doris."

"I will do no such thing, Terry Pearson. Not unless it's about the little boy."

"Fine. I'll do it myself." He pointed a finger at the waitress. "And you need to get back to work, before you find yourself looking for a new job."

"Listen," John sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry about the damages. I'll pay you. Just give me a minute to look for my son-without the cops."

"You in trouble with the law?" Terry snorted.

John gritted his teeth. "Let's just say that I haven't had the best record with them."

"You should understand that, Terry," Doris pointed out, as she picked up a plate and started back for the dining area. "Considering the amount of vacations you've spent at the State's expense."

"Smart ass," Terry tossed at the retreating woman's back and then turned to the Winchesters. "Knock yourself out, but try to keep from eating up my monstrous profits."

John nodded, and glanced at Dean. "You okay?"

"No," Dean said wearily. "I want Sam." He knew he sounded more like his little brother than he would ever care to admit to, but at the moment he wanted nothing more than to have his daddy hug him and take away all the bad stuff in their lives.

"Let's go find him then." John squeezed his shoulder. "I'm going into the alley to check for our regular cast of characters, and you go out and look in the diner once more. Check everywhere."

"Dad-what if we _don't _find him?"

"We'll find him, son." John would be damned if he'd lose another member of his family.

The confident ring to those words only bolstered Dean's confidence for the first hour, then they began to ring hollow with each passing minute that Sam didn't turn up.

He and his father had searched every inch of the place, including every car and building in a half-mile radius.

They'd retraced their tracks to the library and into the children's section, even though no one reported Sam leaving the diner, it was still a possibility that he had left unnoticed.

The EMF and Infrared scanners they had used very discreetly had garnered zip also. It was as if Sam had simply vanished into thin air.

Two hours later, John was ready to call the police. In fact, he was berating himself for not doing it sooner. Child protective services be damned, he needed help to find his son-even if it meant risking losing custody.

He had just sat down on a bench outside the diner, when Dean reappeared beside him.

The teen looked exhausted and frazzled, and unnerved in a way John had never witnessed. "Did you check the park?"

His son nodded. "I even went back to the pond where I took him to feed the ducks yesterday."

"God-Sammy," John sighed, dropping his head into both hands. "Where the hell are you?"

Dean sat beside him on the bench. "What are we going to do, Dad?" _Please say you know what to do. _

John lifted his head and started to reply when a shrill scream came from inside the diner.

Both Winchesters reacted, leaping to their feet and barreling into the now relatively empty restaurant.

Doris was still at the counter and Terry had just come from the kitchen when another yell pierced the air. This time it was recognizable as a woman's voice.

"That's Kelly," Doris said as she made a move towards the lady's room. "She just started her shift," the waitress explained to John who passed her up, and pushed his way through the door with the stick figure girl on it.

All hunter instincts were in full drive as John eyed the scene around him, consciously aware of the gun hidden in the back of his jeans.

A young red head was peering into what looked like a small utility closet and although her back was to him, John easily read the fear in her body language.

She screamed again and this time another wailing joined hers. "Sammy!" Dean was barreling past his father in a heartbeat and would have made it too, if John's quick reflexes hadn't kicked in and he hadn't caught hold of the boy's arm, effectively holding him back.

"Easy!" John warned, and edged his way towards the woman. He put a hand on her arm and she screamed again, jumping out of his way, one hand over her heart, the other clutched to her throat.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed, "I thought he was dead. Jesus! He scared the hell out of me!"

There, amidst the toiletries and cleaning supplies, was one very scared looking seven year old.

"Sam!" John reached for the boy, who practically jumped into his arms. "Are you okay?"

Sam wrapped his arms around his father's neck and buried his face in his shirt, nodding, but not speaking. John hugged him hard, sending up a quick thank you that his little boy was safe.

Dean moved in closer to the two and ran his hand over the little boy's head. "Sammy, are you hurt?"

Sam lifted his head. "Where were you?"

"Where was _I_?" Dean took a step back, as if someone had hit him.

Sam frowned, accusingly. "You were suppose to come find me. I waited forever," he proclaimed with exaggerated exasperation. "And then that lady woke me up with all her screaming. I thought she was a banshee."

John glanced at his oldest son and then to the small utility closet. "Sam-you were hiding?"

"I didn't even think to look in there," Doris, who had her arm around the younger girl nodded to the closet. "We rarely use it."

"Hairspray," Kelly confessed, with an embarrassed giggle. "I keep an extra stash in there."

John eyed the small storage space, noting how Dean could have easily missed it when he rechecked the lady's room. It was the type of door that blended in with the wall and no knob was visible.

God only knew how Sam had found it, but nothing surprised John when it came to his youngest son's uncanny ability to land himself in the middle of trouble. "Sammy, what the hell were you thinking?" He set the little boy back on his feet, but kept his hands on his shoulders.

"That Dean would come find me." He looked again at Dean, as if the whole thing was his fault. "It's what you do!"

Dean shook his head, and his weak knees threatened to betray him. He felt the same way he did in school when he just knew he'd flunked an important test. "_Jesus_, Sammy."

"Why? Why would you hide from your brother?" John's anger was back and his deep voice rose as he gave his youngest son a shake. "We've been searching for you for hours. We thought something had taken you!"

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Sam stammered, his brown eyes going to his big brother. "I was tired, and my head was hurting. I must'a fell asleep while I was waiting."

"That's not an excuse, young man!" John yelled again, and Sam's eyes filled with tears. "You know better than this. You know the rules."

Dean stepped forward when fear raced across his little brother's face, "Dad, he…" but his father's angry gaze turned on him and he faltered. "He was mad at me. It's my fault."

John could feel the women's eyes on him and decided it was time to take their family business somewhere private. He let go of Sam and glared at Dean. "See if you can manage to get your brother back to the apartment."

The oldest Winchester then turned to Doris. "I'm sorry for the trouble my sons caused." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed Doris two twenties. "I hope that covers what we destroyed."

The waitress shook her head, but accepted the money. "You don't have to do this. We're just glad your little boy is safe."

John sighed, and cast a glance over his shoulder. "Me too."

With that, he turned and stalked out. The two women both gave Sam sympathetic smiles and then followed in the oldest Winchester's wake.

"I'm sorry," Sam said miserably, once they were gone.

Dean knelt beside him, too relieved that he was alive and in one piece to find any real anger. "You okay?" he asked, reaching up and rubbing away a tear with his thumb. His little brother not only looked miserable, but tired, and his cheeks were still flushed.

Sam nodded. "Daddy's really mad."

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "He was worried about you."

"Am I going to get punished?" Sam's eyelashes were a stark contrast against his pale skin as he looked down at the floor where he was scuffing his shoe.

Dean swallowed hard and pulled the little boy into his arms. "Not if I can help it," he whispered into Sam's hair as his little brother clung to him.

"I didn't mean it when I said that I didn't like you," Sam told him, his arms tightening around Dean's neck. "I like you a lot."

Dean smiled and pulled back, ruffling his brother's hair. "I like you a lot, too, brat." _More than anything. _"Now, let's go home."

The teen stood and started for the door when Sam grabbed hold of him, sliding his small fingers around Dean's much larger hand.

Dean raised a brow, and glanced down at their entwined fingers. "I thought you were too old for this, kiddo?"

Sam shrugged. "I decided that it was okay-at least until I'm ten."

Dean laughed. "And you couldn't have decided that earlier-like before you gave me a heart attack."

"You said it was my job to drive you crazy."

_When will I learn to watch what I say? _"Well, from now on it's your _job_ to do everything I tell you to. Got it?"

The puppy dog eyes were out in full force. "Okay, Dean." Dean shook his head and sighed. _Yeah, right. _If only it were that easy, then his job as big brother would have been so much simpler.


	3. Chapter 3

It's What You Do

Chapter 3

John Winchester knew that it was _his _job to be the bad guy sometimes. That's how it was for parents. There were scenes in which you were the valiant hero of the story but more times than not, you were cast to play the villain. It sucked to be the villain.

For instance, at this moment, he was ranked right up there with the likes of the wicked puppy stealing Cruella De'ville and Gaston from _Beauty and the Beast_. Not to mention Scar from the _Lion King_ and the giant squid lady that had stolen Ariel's voice, and any other monster from Sammy's favorite video collection.

The little boy had told him as much as he stood there in the middle of their kitchen screaming at him to stop hurting his brother- with fists clenched and tears streaming down his face. Besides the verbal assault, he'd also looked like he was ready to launch a physical attack-every muscle in his tiny frame quivering. But he was apparently afraid that any more infractions might bring more wrath from the horrible creature torturing his hero. The hero being Dean, of course, and the creature being John-the father who had always been their protector.

John had never been abusive to his children. He had sworn to himself that he would never give his boys reason to fear him-as he had feared his own father. That kind of terror was different than a healthy respect for authority.

However, the seasoned warrior in him had no problem with establishing authority. Years in the military had taught him the importance of it, and a career as a hunter had demanded it. And perhaps if their lives hadn't required it for their very survival, he might have handled things differently.

But as it were, Dean needed to understand that Sam was not to be left unguarded-ever. One little innocent trip to the bathroom could have lost the boy to them forever.

And Sam needed to understand that Dean wasn't a windup toy soldier that his dad had given to him as a plaything.

There were consequences-serious, deadly consequences for every irresponsible action that they took.

The sooner both his sons learned that lesson the better.

So John had punished Dean while Sam stood witness and he had told himself that it was the right thing to do.

But now, as he leaned against the wall nursing a stout drink while eavesdropping at his sons' bedroom door, he suddenly felt a whole lot like that bastard hunter who had shot Bambi's mom.

Sam was still crying, his choking sobs easily heard through the thin wood frame, and as John laid his hand on the cold metal doorknob, he wanted nothing more than to storm in and make all the hurting stop. To be the hero. For both his sons.

But that wasn't what leaders did.

Thankfully, it _was_ what big brothers were good at. John understood that completely-he'd had one of his own many years ago.

As his oldest son's voice rose over the sobbing, John let his hand slide from the door, and he killed the rest of the whiskey before closing his eyes and letting his own silent tears come.

"Sammy-please stop crying." Dean was beginning to get annoyed. After all, it wasn't Sam who had been punished. "Hush. It's all right. It's over." You would have thought that Dean had been beaten within an inch of his life.

Sam lifted his head from the pillow that he had kept it buried in since they both had been sent to their room. His face was red and his eyes were swollen and puffy. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm…so sorry," he hiccupped.

Sammy wasn't really sure who his dad had been punishing, because even though his big brother was the one being spanked, Sam had felt every lick as if it had been him. Dean hadn't even cried-Dean never cried-so his little brother had felt the need to do it for him. And now he couldn't seem to stop.

"Hey," Dean tossed the car magazine he'd been pretending to read onto his bed and made his way over to Sam's. "It's okay. I'm fine. You're fine. No harm done. It didn't even hurt." That was a lie. It had hurt like hell. But Dean wouldn't ever admit that to anyone-especially Sam.

Sam pushed himself up to a sitting position when his brother sat down beside him, and wiped his nose on the sleeve of hisScooby Doo pajamas. His breath was still coming in hitches and he had to force the words out. "But, it's…all my…fault."

Dean sighed and slid his arm around the small shaking shoulders, pulling Sam close to him. He leaned them both back against the headboard. "No it's not. Dad was right. I left you alone. I knew better."

Sam looked up at his brother. "Maybe Dad doesn't know everything."

Having his own words from before tossed back at him had a lump springing to his throat and he simply shrugged, feeling Sam's arm come around his chest and tighten. The stinging in his posterior was making it a little hard to jump to his usual defense of their father's actions. But he _was_ grateful to the man. Grateful he hadn't laid a hand on Sam.

Somehow, Dean knew that if his father had truly wanted to punish him, that's exactly what he'd done. This was apparently some twisted Marine ploy to teach Sam a very important lesson-a lesson that Dean wasn't sure was even necessary.

He hated the fact that he'd been used to make Sam feel bad, but if it kept him safe, then it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed.

"Do you hate me?" Sam whispered, shaking Dean from his reverie.

Dean looked down at the little boy. "What?"

Sam glanced up, his eyes still teary. "I got you in trouble, all because I was mad at you."

"Sammy, I could never hate you. We're brothers."

"Don't you want a new brother now?"

Dean shook his head at the strange ideas that his idiot brother could latch onto. "No way." He flashed Sam one of his patented lop-sided grins. "Besides, I don't think they sell those anywhere around here."

Sam frowned. "But I'm a brat."

"Yeah-but you're _my _brat." Dean couldn't take the tears anymore and opted for the tickle maneuver that was sure to erase even the most sullen of Sam moods.

Finally after a few minutes of much needed giggling, Sam was allowed to catch his breath. "Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean rested against the headboard once more, and watched his brother, absently pick at the bedspread.

Finally, solemn brown eyes lifted to meet Dean's green ones. "I don't like Daddy anymore."

Dean smiled. "That's okay, Sammy. I don't really like him right now either." Sometimes, it was okay not to like the people you loved. Tomorrow things would be different.

Sam nodded, finding his place next to his brother again. "Thanks for taking care of me."

"Hey, it's …"

"I know," Sam cut him off, burrowing closer to Dean, and closing his eyes with a contented sigh. "It's what you do."

"Yep," Dean absently ran his fingers through the little boy's hair, secure in the thought that once again he'd manage to chase away the monsters and Sam was safe and sound in his arms. "It's my job, kiddo." _It will always be my job. _

"But Dean," Sam lifted his head once more, and smiled the first real smile Dean had seen in a week-missing front teeth, dimples and all. "Daddy was right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"I'm still going to be taller than you."

Dean snorted. "As long as I stay the handsome one, I can live with that."

Sam smiled. "Dean?"

"What?" Dean growled, pretending to be annoyed.

"Will you read me a story?"

The older boy rolled his eyes. "What else must I do for you tonight? Take another beating?"

Sam giggled, and grabbed one of his favorite books from the nightstand. "Do the voices, too. I really like it when you do the voices."

Dean took the book and swallowed hard, a slight pang of longing leaching some of the happiness away as his fingers brushed against his old storybook. One look at Sam though and he pushed aside the ache and opened it to the first page of _Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? _

Clearing his throat, and pulling his little brother closer he prepared for his best rendition of Dr. Suess.

"_**W**hen I was quite young_

_and quite small for my size,_

_I met an old man in the Desert of Drize._

_And he sang me a song I will never forget. _

_At least, well, I haven't forgotten it yet._

_He sat in a terribly prickly place. _

_But he sang with a sunny sweet smile on his face: _

_When you think things are bad, _

_When you feel sour and blue,_

_When you start to get mad…_

_You should do what I do!_

_Just tell yourself, Duckie,_

_You're really quite lucky!_

_Some people are much more…_

_Oh, ever so much more…._

_Oh, muchly much-much more_

_Unlucky than you!"_

And as Sam Winchester listened to his big brother recant the enchanted tale, he was pretty sure that there was no one quite so lucky as him.

The End

A/N: Thanks for all the surprising reviews on the first part of this story. As always, they mean so much. Thanks also to Dr. Suess, who helped inspire this last little bit. I still have my ragged copies of his masterful work, and always relish the chance to read them. He was an artist, despite his questionable taste in headwear.

Thanks for reading-Ridley


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